Heart of Stone
by TheAirbrushedCountess
Summary: The 44th Annual Hunger Games. Written from the perspective of Eunia, the female tribute from District 2. The Genre is "Parody" Because I used the world, but none of the characters from the original books. T rating for Hunger Games violence.
1. Chapter 1

I wait in silence with the rest of District 2 to find out which of us will either be vaulted to glory or dead in a box after the next few weeks. I catch myself playing with the hem of my mother's dress, pulling out the loose stitches my mom used to hem it in for my usage. My name's not entered that many times this year- I couldn't take out more tesserae than two, for myself and my mother, since we're the only ones in our family -Four times because I'm fifteen, and then twice for tesserae, but I still cling to the hope of winning. I've completed the Career school in my district, and I've mastered almost every weapon in existence. Should be useful, even if I'm not ever chosen, for if I become a peacekeeper in some outlying district.

Our Capitol escort, Magnus Redpath, has arrived. His fingernails are a foot long, curled, and painted in red-and-blue stripes. I'm in the second row, close enough to smell his pungent rosemary cologne as he steps up to the microphone. He smiles, which makes his lime-green lipstick and tattooed brows look even more freakish. Do we look odd to him as he does to us? We must appear so plain and drab in his eyes, considering he comes from a place where if something doesn't light up or sparkle or make you want to squint because the color is so bright, it's considered dreary and dull.

"Happy Hunger Games," Magnus announces. The speakers give a squeal of indignant audio feedback, as if he's somehow offended them by wishing us good luck. _District 2 really needs a better sound system_ , I think. He winces. "And may the odds"- He braces himself, as if preparing himself to endure the speakers' wrath again, but the audio feedback is gone, some technician having reined it in. "be ever in your favor. We'll start with the girls." He shuffles over to the reaping ball (Are those men's high heels? Ridiculous.) and selects a name. He clears his throat.

"Eunia Naysmith!"

Fear. Paralyzing fear, penetrating down to the core of my bones. And then thrill. Because I've been chosen. Chosen to represent District 2 in the 44th Hunger Games.

I walk to the stage, my face a mask of calm smugness. I can't afford to be dismissed as weak when the Capitol televises replays.

"What's your name again?" Magnus asks. I have to suppress an eye roll. He's holding my name in his hand on a slip of paper. What a bumbling idiot. "Eunia," I say into the microphone. "Let's have a round of applause for Eunia Naysmith!" The district erupts in cheers. I grab Magnus's hand and hold it up in the air in celebration. Ew. His fingernails are weird and coarse because they're so long. I drop it, and he proceeds to the other reaping ball.

"Atlas Ronin," Magnus reads. Good. He was second-to-best in my Career School –second only to me- and I hate him for being adept despite being a moron (Though he doesn't know it), so he'll make a good ally until his stupidity gets him killed off, and I'll have no huge cause to mourn when he inevitably does.

We shake hands. He looks like he's still in shock. Emotion's still working its way through that tortoise-slow brain before it finally shows on his face. Pure fear. The mayor stands to read the Treaty of Treason. I'm shocked he still has to read it, seeing as he's read it 30-some times for the games, and it's not that complicated. The districts fought the Capitol, the Capitol was annoyed, we have the games. Yada yada yada.

A squad of peacekeepers leads us into the justice building. The doors shut behind us, confining the light to outside, where it belongs.


	2. Chapter 2

The door of the train glides shut with a streamlined WHOOSH, and I can finally stop smiling for the sake of the cameras. I'm emotionally exhausted, and now I'm stuck alone with two people I dislike: Magnus and Atlas, the latter more than the former.

Two girls dressed in white come into the train compartment, which is lined in velvet and decked out in paintings and comfortable chairs.

"These avoxes will guide you to your rooms," Magnus says. With a curt nod, the blonde one motions for me to follow her. We walk from train car to train car until we reach a compartment labeled with my name in delicate calligraphy. She opens the door and bows so low her ponytail flips down over her head. She stands up and scurries from the room.

I take in my surroundings. The room is painted eggshell blue with silver trim. A mahogany wardrobe lies adjacent to a king-size bed with a blue quilt and the softest mattress I've ever felt.

I decide to take a shower before dinner, but the control panel has so many buttons that I have to call the blonde avox back to show me which one turns the shower on.

After somewhat successfully programming and taking my shower- apparently, one of the buttons I hit at random made the shower coat me in a nasty, rose-scented froth –I dress in one of the outfits they've provided for me, a navy jumpsuit that perfectly brings out the flecks of gold in my blue eyes.

I try on some of the shoes, but I have really wide feet, so none of them fit me. I decide to just go down barefoot. The carpet's so soft that I don't really need shoes, anyway.

I walk into the dinner compartment. Magnus and Atlas are sitting at a metal table with two people that I vaguely recognize from previous Games: Terra Baxwoll and Ostro Dunbrile, the District 2 mentors. Terra's olive-skinned and lovely in her lavender dress. Ostro is stuffing his face full of the roast lamb, which doesn't really improve his already-average looks. Magnus looks thoroughly disgusted at him, though, so we'll probably be friends. Terra will be my mentor, while Ostro will be Atlas's. I'm lucky.

Magnus makes the introductions. I can tell Terra's sizing me up, trying to decide if I'm worth helping. I make a point of wearing my most fierce expression.

"Are you ok? Your face looks funny," Atlas says. I blush. It's supposed to be _fierce_ , you moron.

"I'm fine, thanks."

I think Ostro can sense the animosity between us, because he stuffs the last of his potatoes in his mouth and gets up to leave. I suddenly realize why he eats so much: His games, he nearly starved to death. He must have developed some kind of eating disorder for fear of experiencing an empty belly again.

Terra is the kind of person who keeps her cool, though.

"Did you complete the academy?" she asks me.

"Top of my class," I respond nonchalantly.

She smiles. "Good. That I can work with." She takes a bite of the roast lamb, and I realize I haven't touched mine. I dig in with gusto.

"We'll reach the Capitol in a few minutes. Get ready."

Most of the other Tribute Trains won't reach the Capitol for another day or so, but since District 2 is the closest District to the Capitol, we only have to ride a few hours in here.

I excuse myself from the table and walk up to the front of the train so I can see the view. We are gliding across a bridge towards a beautiful, brightly colored-city. I can see the crowds from here.

I walk back to the dining car and open the train window. Probably not a good idea, but we're slowing down anyway. We reach the other side and I'm met with roars of appreciation and love from these people. I blow a few kisses and the highly excitable crowd squeals. "EUNIA. EUNIA. EUNIA." They chant. They must've bothered to find my name on the Tribute Roster most of them are holding. A few are scribbling notes, trying to figure out whether or not to bet on me. I pull my head back inside the train car because a Capitol attendant's yelling at me, but I blow the crowd one more kiss before I back away.

Despite their cheers, I bet they'd enjoy watching me die. No matter. I simply will have to not die.


	3. Chapter 3

The Tribute Train rolls into the training center. I'm the first to disembark, actually using the control panel to manually open the train door and jump out before the train comes to a full stop, prompting five Capitol attendants to come up to me with very angry expressions. They grumble something about safety regulations. Safety regulations. It seems a little ridiculous that they're trying to keep me safe now and in a week they'll be sending me to the Games, where they'd love for me to die.

The lowest level of the training center, where the small train station is, also hosts the room where we will be "Training" for the games. As if anything that Atala woman could teach them in a week could compare with my years of schooling in District 2. I'll probably be spending my training sessions making alliances and teaching things to the other tributes, since I abhor unfair fights. Without any kind of dismissal from Magnus or Terra, I walk to the elevator and take it up to floor 2, where the District 2 stylists with their mountains of chiffon and lipstick will try to gussy us up for the crowd. I hear the ding of an elevator behind me. I'm expecting Magnus or someone else, but it's the blonde avox girl.

She wordlessly leads me to a room. She hasn't met my eyes once since I met her on the train. The disturbing thing is, I bet she's no older than I am. I am suddenly curious about her. "What's your name?" I ask as she opens the door for me and leads me inside. She looks nervous. "Oh, yeah, I'm not supposed to talk to you unless I'm giving you a command. Well… hmm… I order you to tell me your name." She gives a little sigh. She presses a series of buttons on a hidden control panel. The top of the dresser sinks in and then back up again, and now there is a pen and notebook resting on the surface. She scribbles something, then bows and quickly backs out of the room. Just as she's about to close the door, she looks up and meets my eyes. I look down at the paper. She shuts the door. I read the name on the paper. "Orchyd."

I bolt the door on a hunch, and, sure enough, Magnus is soon angrily pounding the door looking for an explanation for my behavior on the train. I literally couldn't care any less than I do about what he thinks of my manners. Manners don't matter in the Arena. The pounding briefly stops. Then it begins a few minutes later, but it's just a quiet rap this time.

"Go away, Magnus!" I yell out of frustration.

"It's Terra."

I get up and open the door. "Time to meet your stylist," she tells me. "Try not to kill your prep team, okay?" "Even if they get on my nerves?" I ask. "Especially if they get on your nerves," she says, rolling her eyes. She leads me to a white-tiled room where soft easy-listening music about piña coladas and dancing in the rain plays. My eyes search out the speakers, but there don't seem to be any. Dang, no way to turn it off. I lay down on the metal table with all sorts of sockets for showerheads and auto-hair rippers and who knows what the heck else.

"Have fun, okay?" Terra tells me. I shoot her a dirty look before she leaves. I could've sworn she stuck her tongue out at me. Almost immediately, the door re-opens and two bright pink things come in. There is literally not an inch of these humans that has not been dyed or tattooed bright freaking pink. Even the irises of their eyes are pink, via contacts or something. They're examining me with obvious disgust, like, " _Oh, you poor human being who has not been freakishly altered like those of us who are privileged_."

"Well, let's get her to Beauty Base Zero for Jettin. Maybe then she won't be so awful," one of them pipes. I grit my teeth. One of them starts heating wax and applying it to my legs. The other grabs my hand and starts rubbing a gritty goo on my nails. I mentally nickname them Pink 1 and Pink 2. Pink 2 rips a strip of wax off my leg while Pink 1 wipes the goo off my nails, leaving them shining.

They file, wax, pluck, and scrub their way through my body for an hour until I can hardly recognize myself. They've done something to my hair that makes it shine and flow down my back in waves rather than its usual tangled ponytail. My nails are perfectly ovoid, and my skin gleams like satin.

"You're very pretty. Our work is done. Let's go get Jettin!" they squeal.

I nod, and they leave the room twittering like two silly pink birds. The door clinks shut, and I am again left alone with the soothing voice singing elevator music. I almost think they've forgotten to fetch him (It wouldn't shock me), but then the door creaks open again.

A man- Jettin, I suppose –enters. He's tattooed from head to toe in intricate geometric black and white pattern. His natural skin color is indiscernable, but the white and black patterned skin makes his green eyes a shocking contrast. His hair is close-cropped, and he's bleached it bone white.

"Eunia. A pleasure to meet you," he says in a deepened version of the Capitol accent. He smiles, and I realize his gums are tattooed the same jet-black as his skin, and his tongue has somehow been rendered white as a sheet.

"So. Opening parade. I've got the perfect outfit planned. You're District 2, so we have to do something with Masonry, your District's principal industry."

I'm shocked. He seems to actually be capable of forming a coherent thought, unlike most of these Capitol idiots.

"I thought we'd do something with stone. I have design plans here…"

He pulls out a thin blue plastic folder from one of the myriad drawers in this room holding beauty supplies. He holds it out to me.

"I've got this dress made already, but I'll need to alter it for you. Charm and Septima took your measurements while remaking you, so I'll have no problem doing that. Atlas's stylist and I have coordinated, so you'll be similarly dressed." He pauses. "Do you like them?"

"Wait, who's the statue? It's supposed to be stone to represent masonry, but you can't actually make me look like stone, can you?"

He grins wickedly. It's infectious. "You can make me look like this?"

"Wanna see the dress?"


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up to the alarm I set last night after the tribute parade. I smile, remembering the events of last night.

The dress was as fantastic as Jettin's designs pictured it to be. He and Pink 1 and Pink 2 coated me in a gritty, grey paint that matched the look of the dress. When I caught a glimpse in the mirror, I could've sworn I was a statue. The parade itself was incredibly dull, though. There was too much standing in near proximity to my idiot district partner for my taste.

But today, we get to start training. This should be interesting. My game plan is to show off and make some allies. I'm up early for the Capitol's standards, since I woke up at my usual hour and District Two is in an earlier time zone than the Capitol, so there's almost no one else in the dining room when I get there except for a few Avoxes. I load my plate with pancakes and eggs and sit down to eat.

I watch the Avoxes as I chew my food in silence. The doorway to the kitchen is propped open, and they walk in and out carrying silver platters of food. Most of them are dressed in all white, though the ones cooking in the kitchen all have black or grey aprons on. I recognize Orchyd, the blonde Avox from the train, walking out with a platter of smoked ham, which she sets on the buffet table along with all the other immaculately prepared dishes.

It must be strange not to be able to speak. To communicate only through actions. Huh.

I wolf down the last of my food and walk out the double doors of the dining room. I go back to my room to put on makeup- a process that is extremely complicated due to the nature of the Capitol, since I have thousands of choices and automated applicators that leave my face feeling raw and powder-coated -and fix my hair in its usual ponytail.

I hear a knock at my door. I go to open it, and find Terra standing there in a lilac-colored blouse and tan pants. "Time for breakfast."

"I already ate. And got dressed. Why does everyone get up so late here?"

She laughs. "Having a hard time adjusting to Capitol Standard Time?"

For some reason, this remark annoys me. Like she's questioning my ability to adapt to any situation. "No," I mutter. "And I'm going down to train."

She rolls her eyes. "Go ahead, but no one'll be there yet. Most of the tributes won't be awake for another hour or so."

Good. One more advantage on my side. I take the elevator down to the training center, where the trainer is just setting up. Her name is Atala. I know this from Career school, since she came to guest-lecture in my edible substances class twice. Atlas and I were one of five people to pass that class's final exam, where we had to name every edible substance that has ever been a part of the Games.

The tribute center is, as far as I can tell, empty. Which means I have first call on the weapons rack. I pick up four throwing knives and walk to the knife station. I walk as far as I can get from the targets, then press a button on the orange station-control panel to begin the simulation.

It's a little rudimentary. There are ten targets that slide in tracks in the floor. They move backwards and forwards, and when one of them lights up orange, you're supposed to throw your knife at the rings on its chest. Too easy, I don't miss a single bullseye. I stand watching the dummies for a few minutes as they move along. At first I think their pattern of movement and lighting to be random, but after fifteen minutes or so of watching, I've isolated a pattern of movements.

I walk over to the fire-starting station and take a long strip of cloth, which I then bring back to the knife-throwing station. I watch the pattern and wait for it to begin again. When the first target lights up, I lay my knives on the ground parallel to my foot and to each other, and tie the strip of fabric over my eyes as a blindfold. I pick up the first knife.

Inhale. Exhale. I envision the targets, counting the seconds in my head. Inhale. Exhale. I throw the knife. No noise sounds to let me know whether I've hit or not, so I have no way of knowing if I've misjudged the pattern.

I pick up my second knife. The target on my far right should be lit up now and moving towards me. Inhale. Exhale. Grip the blade. I throw the knife.

I pick up the third knife. The dummy directly in front of me should be moving away from me. Inhale. Exhale. I throw the knife.

I pick up the last knife and rack my brain to remember the pattern. I know that the lit dummy will be the one two to the left of the one I've just thrown at, but was it moving backwards or forwards? Backwards, definitely backwards. Inhale. Exhale. Throw the knife. I pull the blindfold off my eyes and look at the targets. A smile spreads across my face as I observe the four perfect bullseyes. Then I look to my left, and my smile fades. I don't know how long I've been here, but apparently long enough for some of the other tributes to arrive, because eleven tributes are standing to my left, watching me, and the knife-throwing instructor is standing next to them.

Well, if my goal was to show off, I've achieved it. I go to retrieve my knives. From behind me, I hear the knives instructor announcing to them that I must have natural talent, and that he could teach them how to throw. Four of the tributes, however- the ones I remember from the Tribute parade as the tributes from One and Four -aren't paying attention. They're staring at me. One of the boys, the one from Four with the coppery hair and brown eyes, turns to the other three and gestures for them to follow him. He starts walking towards me. I smile faintly, and walk towards the wrestling arena, where a girl from Eight is desperately trying to wrestle an instructor into submission. There are seats there, and I know we'll have time to talk. The boy and the other three sit down next to me.

"Hello. I'm Carlis. This is Deirdre, Arika, and Cantus," the boy says, gesturing to the other three.

"Eunia Naysmith. District Two."

"Good. People from Two are direct enough to spare me from having to go through being cordial. We're trained Careers, and we want you as an ally. You're clearly pretty good with a knife," Carlis says. The two girls- Arika and Deirdre, I think he called them -nod in unison.

"That could be arranged. What career schools did you go to, and what're your weapons of choice?" I ask.

"I went to District Four's Conch Academy, along with Deirdre. Arika and Cantus went to Slasharth Academy. I fight with a bow and arrow. Deirdre uses a trident. Arika's deadly with a mace. And Cantus fights with a sword."

"Excellent. I accept your request for an alliance, on the condition that my district partner, Atlas, is also included. We both trained at District Two's Grand Coliseum Career School."

Carlis's eyebrows raise. "That's a good school," the girl, Arika, comments.

As we watch, the girl from Eight is effortlessly pinned by the instructor, and she smacks the mat to concede. The instructor lets her up, and she walks over to the Edible Plants station, grumbling. On a whim, I get up to take her place. The instructor, who sounds hopelessly bored for lack of a challenge, asks, "Weapon combat or hand-to-hand?" I consider for a second. "Weapon combat." She hands me a padded black jumpsuit and an object that's supposed to simulate a knife. It's metal with a plastic grip, but the sharp edge is coated in a white chalky substance that shows up with great detail on the black jumpsuits, so that combat is safe and easy to judge. I step into the black jumpsuit and zip it up. The instructor is already in hers.

"Begin," the instructor says. I fall into a basic knife-fighting stance. The instructor does the same, but I have to keep myself from laughing at it. Her foot placement is incorrect, and her grip is sloppy. She's spent so long sparring against unskilled opponents that she's sloppy. I'm disgusted. Whatever happened to the refinement of skill simply for the sake of refinement of skill? This isn't a knife-fighter, this is a smug adult beating up on children who are doomed to die anyways.

Expecting an easy win, she shuffles forward and lunges. I sidestep to the right, grab her knife hand, and use her momentum to shove her forwards and off balance. She stumbles. In three seconds, I have her pinned on her back.

"I thought this was supposed to be challenging." I let her up, take off the black jumpsuit, and walk off, leaving her annoyed in the fighting arena.

I go to watch the knife throwers. Carlis is standing there as well, watching the mediocre attempts with a half-smirk on his face. "What do you want to bet that I can teach one of them to throw properly?" I ask him, bemused.

"Nothing. They're hopeless."

"Oh, come on."

"Fine. I owe you a pineapple if you can teach one of those idiots to throw a knife decently."

I scan the line of tributes, and watch as they shakily throw their knives. "Bet you I can teach the blonde from Nine how to throw. Look, she has her stance right. None of the others even have that." I watch as the boy from Ten throws a knife with such a terrible grip that it flies up and sticks in the ceiling. I walk behind them and stand behind the girl from Nine.

"Your stance is right, but you have the grip wrong. You want to hold it on the blade... There."

The girl turns around in surprise, but follows my advice. Her next knife lands on the outermost ring of the target on the dummy, and the boy from Ten looks over, glaring with jealousy.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Eunia. I'm fifteen. From District Two. What's your name?"

"Catherine. I'm thirteen. District Nine."

"Well, Catherine from District Nine, keep on throwing that knife."

She smiles hesitantly, and I walk back over to Carlis. We watch as she throws her next knife, and then the next. Both land on the dummy. I look at Carlis and raise my eyebrows. He sighs. "Fine. I owe you a freaking pineapple. You are a very strange girl."

"Thank you. Strange and deadly."

I walk back up to my room, since it's about time for lunch, and eat an egg salad sandwich. We won't train again tomorrow, but I should probably tell Atlas about the allies I signed him up for, since he never bothered to show up for training. My mind is brimming with the things I'll say to him and all the others at dinner tonight and tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

I've focused my afternoon on creating a list of all the strengths and weaknesses of the tributes I observed in training this morning. I've gone through fourteen tributes already, and I'm just finishing up my notes on the girl from District Eight, who I watched get thoroughly trounced by the instructor in wrestling, when I hear a soft rapping at the door. I open it to find the Avox, Orchyd, carrying a silver plate on which rests - unbelievably - a pineapple. With it on the silver plate is a greeting card that says 'May the odds be ever in your favor. Enjoy the pineapple. -Carlis.' I thank the Avox, and wait until she shuts the door to burst out laughing.

Carlis actually sent me the pineapple he lost in the bet at the training center. That's sweet. I'll kill him last. I add 'Keeps his promises' to his strengths on my list of tributes.

If I take the time to finish the list now, I'll be late enough to dinner that the food will be cold. I decide to finish it later, jotting down a few last things about the District Eight girl's fighting stance before setting the notepad on my dresser. I can't remember where I set my shoes when I took them off upon re-entering my room, so I rummage through my vast closet looking for a new pair. I finally settle on some black lace-up combat boots made of some kind of leather that I don't recognize. I put them on and hurry out the door, humming as I walk to the dining hall.

The tables are filled with tributes eating beef stew. I locate Carlis, Arika, Deirdre, and Cantus all sitting around a table. Magnus is still in line for the buffet. I get myself a tray and load it with beef stew, rolls, and carrots. I skip the end of the line - dessert - to catch up to Atlas.

He turns around and stares at me. "Hey, Eunia. Need something?"

"Nope. But since you didn't bother to show up to training, I made us some allies. See the kids from One and Four over there?" I point over at their table.

"Yes."

"They're our allies," I tell him.

"You signed me up for allies without asking me?" He looks angry.

"They're all trained careers. And since I'm allies with them and you're allies with me, we're all allies. And please, TELL me you would've picked anyone other than that group."

He can't argue with anything I said, but he looks like it's killing him not to have something to yell at me. He finally just walks over to their table and plops his tray down. His face is instantly charming once he's trying to convince someone that he's a good ally. I sigh, grab a chocolate sundae, and follow him to the table. Atlas has just finished introducing himself to the others as I take the remaining seat.

"So. What's our game plan when we get into the Games?" I ask.

Aelia shakes her head. "Too many variables to decide right now. Once we get in to the games, then we decide. Should we pick a place to meet up after the bloodbath?"

"The cornucopia. It's a risky location, but it's the only thing we know for sure will be in the arena," Deirdre says.

"Should we camp by the cornucopia?" Atlas suggests.

"It's sort of traditional. And it makes sense, assuming we hoard the vast majority of the stuff. We can just push it all into the back of the cornucopia and camp in front of it. And if we can do that and still set up tents inside the cornucopia, we've got shelter from rain, and only one way someone can attack us while we're asleep," I respond. Atlas shoots me a glare, like, "You horrible person, I wasn't asking you."

Carlis nods. "We should set up some kind of schedule. In the morning, we'll divide into two groups, two of us responsible for preparing food, and the rest out hunting for tributes. If anyone was injured the previous day, they stay back and help with cooking," Cantus says. I take a bite of my ice-cream sundae thoughtfully.

"Who'll be on cooking duty on day one?" Carlis asks. "We should plan ahead."

"I was trained in Games-related culinary art. I can cook really well," I reply. "I was too," Arika adds. I wince. "What? What's wrong with that?" Arika asks me. "Sorry- just brain freeze. Stupid ice cream." They chuckle. "I guess you two are con cooking duty, then," Atlas shrugs. "Well, I'll see you all in training tomorrow," I tell them, standing up and smiling, "I have things to do." I pick up my tray and carry it into the kitchen, setting it by the dishwasher, where the avoxes have been putting the empty plates after meals. I get a few strange stares when I walk out of the kitchen, but I'm okay with that. I wanted to send the message to treat the avoxes with care. Like, "I'm way, way better than you in this lethal competition, and even I help the avoxes out." Maybe they'll follow suit and it'll make someone's life better.

Since I won't be able to serve as a peacekeeper anymore to protect people- no matter whether or not I win the Games -it's an okay legacy to leave, helping the avoxes.

The only person who seems to catch on to this, though, is Catherine, the girl from 9, who takes her plate over to the kitchen too. I smile to myself and walk out of the room.


End file.
